The Other Side Read online

  His lordship was soon convinced of the existence of a realm that made a mockery of every accepted law, a realm where a despotic ruler, as mischievous as he was immeasurably rich, went about his nefarious business, a realm where many thousands of respectable Europeans were kept in unlawful confinement. The American wrote that he had turned to England as the declared enemy of the inhumanity of slavery and expected rapid and effective help from them.

  Although both the letter and the proclamation were crude and demagogic in tone, it was impossible, given the disappearance of so many people, entirely to ignore the plea for swift aid. Was not Princess X. said to be languishing in captivity there? This also explained the strange acquisition of buildings which had so perplexed the European press and which was assumed to be the caprice of some petty Asiatic prince.

  The result was a brisk exchange of despatches between the European powers. It seemed imperative that action be taken as quickly and as quietly as possible. Russia, as the neighbouring state, was given a mandate to intervene. The usual petty jealousies were forgotten and parliaments kept in ignorance for the time being.

  Within a month a Russian division had been mobilised and placed under the capable command of General Rudinov. They made ‘For Christian morality and brotherly love’ their watchword and thought of the gold bars they would liberate. The czar hoped for a windfall in the shape of a rich province, since the country lay close to the Russian frontier.

  In the utmost secrecy a whole host of journalists, photographers, speculators and merchants with expertise in particular fields were invited and taken to accompany the expedition.

  The Chinese ambassadors protested to all powers against this violation of the borders of the Heavenly Empire, but by then it was too late and the gentlemen were forced to withdraw, pigtails and all.

  The position of the Dream Realm was fairly precisely known from maps. As an extra precaution, however, the American’s messenger was to guide the troops. But one day the man was found dead in his hotel room. A dagger was stuck in his stomach and the three words etched on the blade caused some alarm:

  Silence is golden.

  Rudinov had to find the country himself.

  Chapter 3: Hell

  I

  A dull morning. Hercules Bell is still in bed, half sitting up, his arms folded, deep in thought. ‘I will prevail’, he murmurs, and his features–much too forceful to be called handsome–are suffused with a glow of pride. ‘I will prevail!‘ he repeats out loud and gets up.

  ‘I am healthy’, he thinks exultantly, and stands naked in front of the full-length mirror. With a challenging look in his eye he scrutinises his body, performing a few gymnastic exercises to show off his muscles. ‘Hard as iron.’ He thumps his hairy chest. He sees himself as a wrestler and shouts out in an upsurge of joy, ‘The champion: Hercules Bell!’

  He thinks of the Dreamlanders and automatically he spits in the corner. He’ll sort out that herd of feeble sheep soon enough!

  Suddenly he frowns. The Outer Settlement comes to mind. He has only been over there once to have a look at the inhabitants. ‘Humbug’ was the word which summed up his opinion of the old tribe and he never went back to the village, which ‘didn’t agree’ with him.

  Once he had become aware of the cold detachment of the blue-eyed Asians he decided that the Settlement would not be very fertile ground for party politics. In spite of that he felt uneasy about these strange old people and still feared they might in some way act against him. They were completely untouched by the incipient upheaval, still living passively from day to day. To hell with them! Even the most depraved Dreamers were preferable to them!

  He dresses and shaves himself meticulously, then massages his face with professional expertise, after which he brightens up again. His final, triumphant blow is still to come, and no one in the least suspects it. He thinks back to the night when he parted from his favourite servant. This man, who had been Bell’s personal factotum for twenty years and was devoted to him, had risked his life to leave the Dream Realm and bring news of the new state to other countries. Connor was outside the frontier walls. With his genius for practical and technical matters he had swiftly realised that the river offered the only possibility of escape. He had dived under at the point where it disappeared beneath the wall and had discovered a metal grille. Under cover of darkness he had managed to file through one bar, making an opening through which he could squeeze his slim, agile frame. That he did one night, and a rocket sent up from beyond the wall signalled to the American the success of his servant’s daring plan. The all-important letter he carried in a rubber bag tied to his chest; for a man of his iron constitution a nocturnal immersion in cold water was of no consequence. Now nothing could go wrong! Connor had demonstrated his stamina and intelligence in all kinds of exploits.

  Help would be there within four to six weeks at the most.

  ‘In two months I will be the ruler of the Dream Realm’, Bell says, filling his cigar-case. ‘Soon I’ll have Patera on his knees.’ An evil glint appears in his eyes. Why can he not help secretly feeling a burning admiration for the Master, whom he so hates? In that question lies the whole tragedy of the man.

  When, after repeated requests, he was allowed into the country and saw with his own eyes the effects of Patera’s immeasurable powers, his practical outlook viewed the ends to which they were employed as trivial and frivolous. With his enterprising genius he would have created something quite different! His first idea had been to set up a joint partnership with the ‘Master’. That was something he would have willingly sunk his millions in, they could have conquered the whole world! More than this loony bin, anyway!

  He was a powerful man. He was so rich people in America and Europe willingly licked the soles of his feet. And here the Master treated him like some tiresome supplicant! His attempts to visit Patera had all met with a scornful rebuff. Not once had he been able to get through to the top man to present his valuable suggestions. Some unexpected obstacle had always cropped up. Was it surprising that a terrible hatred of Patera had filled his heart? He would show him! He wasn’t a beggar looking for crumbs from his table, he would see that he got the respect he deserved!

  And so he threw himself into politics, with what success we have already observed. He would spent whole nights tossing and turning, racking his brains to think up ways of avenging himself on his invisible adversary. It was his money and his unceasing activity that had made his name feared throughout the Dream Realm. He felt his goal of humbling Patera was close.

  ‘But now’s the time for action, not thoughts.’ He looks at his watch. It has stopped! ‘Strange. How long have I been asleep?’ He rings for his servant. No one comes. He opens the door to the ante-room. There is John, fast asleep with his mouth wide open. Bell goes over to his sleeping servant and shakes him. Nothing happens. Finally John slowly opens his eyes and gives his master a vacant stare. Then he immediately goes back to sleep and cannot be reawakened.

  Furiously, but ineffectively, the American presses all the bells before going down to the restaurant. The first thing he notices there is the hotel-owner, snoring behind the bar. Some guests are sitting with their heads on the tables, using their napkins as pillows, fast asleep, surrounded by half-empty glasses and plates with the remains of their dinner. The waiter is leaning against the coat-rack, sleeping with the Dream Mirror clenched between his knees. Bell gives him a shove and he sinks to the floor without the slightest change to the peaceful expression on his face.

  The American charges back upstairs, almost tripping over the laundry-maid who is stretched out on the floor, cosily wrapped up. Struck by a terrible thought, he leans out of the window. At the street-corner opposite something red is fluttering in the breeze–scraps of paper–a badly stuck-up proclamation. He can see two men lying on the ground in the grubby angle between buildings; the skirt and legs of a woman are sticking out of a doorway. Otherwise it is deserted, not a creature to be seen apart from two animals with pointed muzzles
padding along in the distance: foxes. Bell steps back from the window. He goes pale and an expression of unutterable contempt appears on his face. His head drops, three sharp, vertical creases furrow his brow, his nostrils quiver and, his body slumping lethargically, he croaks, ‘Bungler! You’ve lost your chance!’ His eyes start to close, but it doesn’t get that far. His body trembles as it fights against the tiredness. Bell drags himself over to the basin, plunges his head into cold water–now that’s refreshing!–takes a swig of brandy, massages his scalp with what’s left in the flask, and the moment of weakness is over. He fills his pipe, puts on his hat and goes out.

  Hercules Bell does not surrender.

  II

  An irresistible sleeping sickness had Pearl in its grip. It broke out in the Archive and from there spread across the whole of the Realm. It was an epidemic and no one could resist. One minute a man would be boasting how wide awake he was, the next he had succumbed to the germ.

  The infectious character of the disease was quickly recognised, but the doctors could find no cure. The American’s proclamations were ineffective because as soon as people started to read them they began to yawn. Anybody who could stayed at home, so as not to be struck down by the malady in the middle of the street. They just retired to a cosy nook and contentedly accepted this latest turn of events. After all, it didn’t hurt. The first sign was usually a feeling of profound lethargy, then patients were seized with a yawning fit, their eyes seemed to fill with sand, their eyelids grew heavy, their thoughts went fuzzy and they would sink wearily to the ground where they stood. Sufferers could be brought round now and then with strong smelling salts–sal ammoniac, for example–but they just mumbled a few words and relapsed into torpor. With individuals of a strong constitution a brisk rub-down with a towel would put back the onset by several hours, but then it was just the same. In many cases the outbreak of the illness was very rapid. One speaker was delivering a tirade on the political situation when he suddenly bent down over the table, lowered his head and started to snore rhythmically.

  Anton in the coffee house, on the other hand, could scarcely keep his eyes open, and yet was still serving. But, heavens, the things we had to do to keep him moving! We literally had to bombard him with sugar lumps and coffee spoons. He was exceedingly forgetful and when he did finally bring the order, the impatient customer had often fallen asleep himself. We had to keep a sharp look-out to make sure the cigars of comatose patrons were properly extinguished.

  On the parade ground the military were busy training to prepare them for the threatened revolution. But it was no use the sergeants bellowing at them, one soldier after another just lay down on the ground.

  There were strange and amusing incidents. Thieves slept the sleep of the just, their fingers still in someone else’s till. Melitta spent four days stretched out in Brendel’s apartment, while her husband was dreaming, bent over the table, his nose in the mayonnaise.

  Castringius was struck down while playing cards. He was leaning back comfortably in his chair in a low dive, the jack of diamonds in his paw. I very quickly withdrew to my room and that was where the illness hit me. I had just turned back the covers and gone over to draw the curtains. The last thing I saw was banknotes fluttering, one after the other, out of the window of the princess’s apartment across the road; a gentle autumn breeze was wafting them like withered leaves down the street towards the river. I just had time to get to my bed.

  During the first two days after the outbreak of the epidemic the trains still arrived, though with huge delays, since new staff had to be brought on at every station. After that the service stopped entirely. The last number of the Voice was printed on one side alone, and even then it was riddled with incomplete sentences and scores of typographical errors. The entire last page, which usually contained a round-up of silly miscellaneous items, was missing.

  There was no point in fighting it. Pearl slept. This state of complete unconsciousness probably lasted six days. At least that was the time calculated by the barber who based his estimate on the length of his customers’ stubble.

  During that time there was only one person in the whole of the city who, it was said, did not sleep at all, or only very briefly: the American. On one of the days, when he was walking down Long Street like a latter-day prince from Sleeping Beauty, he claimed he saw, through the coffee house window, one of the chess players make a move. From that he concluded that they, too, had escaped the illness. Otherwise you fell over sleeping bodies everywhere. Not only on all the benches in the public parks, even staircases and entrances were covered with well-dressed men and women, lying higgledy-piggledy, just like the homeless, contented smiles on their faces, despite their bizarre situation.

  As people gradually came to, many simply continued their interrupted activities. This was a blessed relief, not only for Brendel, but for the poor old nag at the knacker’s yard which had spent days tied up, waiting for the coup de grace. Now it received it. For the strange thing was that animals remained impervious to the sleeping sickness.

  For most people nothing had changed, at least not immediately. When I woke up and, in need of sustenance, went to the café, the barber was there already, ravenous but also in a very bad mood. A fourpenny piece had gone missing, which had led to a permanent rift between the barber and his assistant who of course, like all animals, had remained awake.

  The Dream city woke up and found itself in a kind of animal paradise. During our long sleep another world–the animal kingdom–had spread to such an extent that we were in danger of being swept aside. I have to say, though, that even in the time prior to the sleep it had been noticeable what a good year it seemed to be for rats and mice. There had also been complaints about the depredations of birds of prey and four-legged chicken-thieves. The gardener had even seen wolf tracks in Alfred Blumenstich’s park. They laughed at him, but no one laughed any more when, the following day, a pair of horns was all that was left of Frau Blumenstich’s pet, a snow-white Angora goat.

  But how can one describe the astonishment of all those who had gone to sleep alone and undisturbed and woke to find themselves in unwelcome company? There might be a large green parrot sitting at the window or weasels and squirrels peeking out from under the beds. It was only gradually that we realised what was going on.

  When they woke up, the butchers had to drive a large pack of jackals away from the slaughterhouse. Attacks by wolves, wild cats and lynxes increased frighteningly and even our pets suddenly turned disobedient and vicious. Almost all the cats and dogs left their masters and hunted for their own food. The newspapers, that had started to appear again, reported a horrifying case: a bear had climbed into the ground-floor apartment of Apollonia Six, a pork butcher’s widow, and completely devoured the poor lady while she was fast asleep.

  Hunters and fishermen came into the town bringing fantastic-sounding reports of gigantic, shambling animals they claimed to have seen. But being regarded as professional exaggerators anyway, no one believed them. Then suddenly peasants and other Dreamlanders living in the country started to arrive in droves, thundering up on their massive horses, together with carts jampacked with women, children and the more valuable of their household goods. They were very unhappy and demonstrated outside the Palace and the Archive, complaining that no soldiers had been sent to protect them. Herds of buffaloes, they said, had devastated their farms, and they had only managed to escape the attacks of hordes of large apes by the skin of their teeth. The beasts were fiends and spared neither women nor children. Soon afterwards the tracks of colossal bipeds were identified in the clay soil of the Tomassevic Fields on the edge of the city. That gave cause for concern.

  The plague of insects was horrendous. Clouds of greedy locusts descended from the hills and wherever they went they left not one blade of grass. A swarm destroyed the castle garden in one single night. Bugs, earwigs and lice made our lives a misery. All of these species, from the largest to the smallest, seemed to be in the grip of an elemental procreat
ive urge. Despite the fact that they were all eating each other up, quadrupeds and hexapods were multiplying in uncanny fashion. Even the official issue of guns and poison and the promulgation of strict orders to keep windows and doors closed had little effect, the fertility was just too great. Squads of volunteer hunters were organised to support the military and the police. Many buildings had embrasures made in the outside walls to shoot through.

  One morning the wife of the coffee-house owner woke to find fourteen rabbits in her bed. Since her bedroom was only separated from mine by a thin partition, I could hear the baby rabbits squeaking.

  But the most terrifying of all were the snakes. No house was safe from them, the vile beasts got everywhere, into drawers, wardrobes, coat-pockets, water jugs, everywhere. And these insidious reptiles displayed a horrifying fecundity. If you went to your room in the dark you would tread on the eggs lying around and they would burst with a squelch. Castringius devised an ‘egg dance’, which he performed to perfection.

  People in the French Quarter could scarcely put up with the vermin any longer. However, even during the beastly invasion, most kept their heads. It became the done thing to shoot your stag from your window and invite your friends straight round to share the game pie. From the skylight of the house where I used to live you could see a long way out over fields and meadows. Now the area had been transformed into a monstrous zoo. Even the river had its share: crocodiles, which after years of strenuous effort had been banished downstream, reappeared. The baths had to be closed because of the deadly electric eels which had taken up residence in the cabins.